


Hang Onto Hope

by Val_Creative



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Altars, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwen Knows About Morgana's Magic (Merlin), Huddling For Warmth, Introspection, Magic, POV Morgana (Merlin), Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: A winter storm hits Camelot. Morgana insists that Gwen stay with her until it passes.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47
Collections: Merlin (early) Winter Creative Exchange





	Hang Onto Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dandyartz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyartz/gifts).



> OH I LOVE THESE TWO. 🥰 LET ME KNOW IF YOU LOVE THEM TOO. ANY THOUGHTS/COMMENTS APPRECIATED.

*

Midwinter drifts like night-ghosts through a veil of obscurity.

There's a rift in the world, but it's softened by the natural hold of magic and creation. As fearful as she can be of herself, and what she can do, Morgana senses the gentle, warm thrum in her blood. She's as much tied to sorcery as she is to her nobility.

Gaius called this day _"the shortest day of the year"_ as he finished capping Morgana with a new sleeping tonic, handing it to her. The old physician spoke of quiet reflection. The midwinter is a time for letting go of one's despair and losses and begrudges. Nothing new can grow if the soil is dead and frozen. They must have faith in each other. They must unburden themselves.

His veined, pale hands felt wrinkled and blessedly cold on hers. She remembers being a child, devastated by her fevers, half-listening to Gaius murmuring fondly of her parents. Kindly, they were. Especially to others who were considered the lowest born.

Sir Gorlois fought bravely during war, swearing his fealty to Uther and his everlasting love to his wife. Nothing made him happier. He took pleasure in riding for hours through Camelot's wilds. No man matched Sir Gorlois's ability to draw an arrow on horseback. His aim true as his intentions. Morgana's father had no qualms with speaking his mind. Even to kings and queens. 

Lady Vivienne, fair of hair and countenance, was skillful of mind. With her beauty outshining every milkmaid and princess, she used sharp sophistication, her knowledge of diction and high-hearted eloquence, to outfox any member of Uther's court. 

Morgana questions if she bears a likeness to her parents. Gaius has not revealed as much.

Fresh snowfall glitters on her window's pane. She longs to thrust open the sash, to plunge her hands in and revel the icy burn. To feel _something_. No-one living in the citadel has been allowed to wander out. It's been three long and harsh nights of winter. 

Camelot grows troubled. They are weakened by starvation and maladies and restlessness of more nights to follow. Gwen, one of the common folk herself, spoke to Morgana on this. Her neighbors are dying. Their children need grain and meat for their stews, and so do most of the lower town. Morgana spoke to Arthur whom spoke to Uther about the subject. For now, they wait.

Gwen carries her thoughts brimming with hope, accepting the invitation to reside with Morgana in her bedchambers. If only to wait out the storm howling against the battlements, rumbling like thunder against stone walls and echoing through halls.

Instead of hoping, Morgana prays, building an altar in one of her empty wardrobes. Uther would sooner kill her if he discovered it.

(She understands that if Uther discovered her magic _at all_ that the same fate would befall her.)

At the centre of Morgana's altar, she sets up a bowl of glass full of polished deer antlers. It was easy to steal them. Arthur would not concern himself for them missing from his hunts. Deer symbolise innocence and renewal, as their antlers shed often for the turning of time. They also symbolise fortitude and compassion and mysticism which connects greatly to the worlds of spirits.

Morgana places lumps of crystals within her bowl, arranging them neatly. Ametrine, a light transparent purple crystal glistening with gold streaks, represents cleansing of illnesses. Moonstone and clear quartz, for soothing toiled emotions and for power. Moss agate, a kind of white and jade green speckled crystal, for grounding and for protection against the winter storm. Lepidolite for rebirth. Tourmaline for strength and for light. Green aventurine for the promise of spring's heat to arrive quickly.

Surrounding the glass bowl are twigs of evergreens and spruce mixed with cinnamon stems. They remain green even in the deadest of winters. Morgana thinks of them as a indication of life prospering. Cinnamon wards off any negative energies. 

The tapers are lit as an act to welcome the sun.

Holly berries, red and plump, offering a meaning as the cycle of life and death and rebirth. Nuts and pears she has dried out. They represent fruitfulness and warmth in the body. Red poinsettias, though poisonous to eat, are for happiness and success. 

Morgana cannot say where she learned of all of this, but is grateful for the druids and their knowledge.

"I am sorry that you have to keep secrets."

She shuts her wardrobe doors, sparing a glance towards Gwen blowing out a wick. 

Tendrils of greying smoke lift to her lips. Like she's captured alive in a night-ghost's kiss.

"Your secrets are my secrets, milady," Gwen says timidly but with passion. Morgana knows she has courage and heart inside her, but Gwen's sheepishness does tend to see the better of her. "I could not bear to part with them no more than I could you."

It is gladdening to hear, though Morgana knows.

Gwen has been the one to figure out Morgana's ailments, and why she has such vivid nightmares. The accidents like a pillow flying across the room when Morgana wakes, smacking to a chamber-door. Or firelight heightening and rearing up in intensity for seemingly no reason. Or as mirror-glass shatters when Morgana screams blindly in the dark. Gwen has watched, and understood, cradling Morgana to her, petting her arms and face. She whispers that Morgana is alright.

_It will be alright. I am here._

Fondness, for her handmaiden and her best friend, swells in Morgana's breast. 

The closer they are, the more she feels it. Having Gwen stay with her in these long winter nights allows Morgana to realise she truly cannot be apart from her. Not for long. Morgana would sooner be imprisoned for her magic than lose Gwen.

Gwen notices Morgana's tender expression, ducking her head with a small smile and fetching clothes.

"Would you like to try one of your dresses for the next feast, Morgana?" she rambles, pulling out a handful of cream-coloured silk from a trunk. "They're all beautiful, really. Arthur gave you this one from Nemeth. I believe the emerald would suit you best."

"Do you?" Morgana whispers, joining her by the lace-white curtained bed.

Gwen nods, busying herself with holding up a gown and flattening against her bosom in delight. A velvety, bright sapphire with open sleeves and gold-silver threads embroidering the hem. Underskirts of silver flutter at Gwen's feet. "I admire this one."

The corner of Morgana's mouth deepens in a smile.

"It would look quite lovely on you, Gwen."

"Oh…" Gwen says flustered, lowering the gown into the trunk. " _Oh_ … I could never wear such a thing…"

Morgana reaches out, touching Gwen's wrists soothingly. "Don't be ridiculous," she protests. "I would honoured if you did."

_"I am not a lady…"_

"And I am not a man," Morgana says in amusement, "but when has that stopped me from telling them that they're wrong?" She chuckles as Gwen fusses, biting her lower lip, and folds away the gown instead. Morgana expects her to do this as much.

Gwen wears one of Morgana's slips, her dark ringlets unbound and lying loose on her shoulders. Morgana herself wears a night-gown of ashy pale white and gold brocade. Due to the cold, or so Morgana supposes, she can see Gwen's nipples protruding slightly against the fabric. Morgana's nethers throb. Oh, how she longs to wrap herself in Gwen. Forever.

Daring to do so, Morgana holds her. She brushes her thumb to one of Gwen's nipples, feeling the shiver of doubt and pleasure.

_"Morgana…"_

"Come," Morgana says throatily, her vividly green eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Come with me. You're freezing."

She waits for Gwen on the bedding of red fox and wolf and elk furs. Morgana covers Gwen's shoulders in a pelt of thick, brown bear, embracing her until she relaxes, cuddling down against her with Gwen's nose touching hers. Her hands rub Gwen's fingers, warming them, playfully running her nails over Gwen's palms and listening to how the other woman's breathing flutters. 

Mulled wine is what Morgana tastes against Gwen's lips and tongue. Bitter and intoxicating. She smells a light fragrant on Gwen's skin, as Morgana kisses over her neck and ear, taking all of her in, crushing herself to Gwen's thigh.

"You're being very forward," Gwen mumbles, staring into Morgana's eyes with a drowsy concentration.

"Is it displeasing?"

Morgana waits, again, for clarity. Her heart aches.

"I never said that," Gwen mumbles again, smiling slowly and widely, kissing Morgana until they're dizzy from it. Pleasure fills her, edging Morgana until she's half-mad from it, rocking herself against Gwen's fingers touching her with unparalleled intimacy.

As all things do, midwinter shall end.

She never wants this to.

Never.

*


End file.
